


dead flowers in the sand

by castielanderson



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Borderline Personality Disorder, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, a coda to "Time's Up For the Gang", discussion however, much discussion, no rape in fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16149590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielanderson/pseuds/castielanderson
Summary: Mac and Dennis have a conversation about consent, Dennis' trauma, and his worsening symptoms.





	dead flowers in the sand

**Author's Note:**

> yo find me on tumblr @borderlinedennisr

Dennis wrecked them. Sure, they can keep stuffing things down like they always do, but there are these moments, like the one happening right now, where it becomes too hard. 

Mac doesn’t go home with Dennis. He follows Charlie back to the bar to check on him. They’ve never acknowledged Uncle Jack out loud before. Not as a group. And Charlie has never said anything about what Dee did to him.

It’s hard. They all do this to each other. All the time. Mac remembers years ago when Charlie blackmailed Dee into sex, and the psychological warfare he inflicted on her during their obsession with that stupid phone game. They do this to each other because it’s easy. Because it feels less dangerous than actually admitting how much they need one another.

Mac knows he’s guilty too. Dennis called him out on it. God. Dennis. As Mac follows Charlie inside Paddy’s, he thinks about how different this shit is for Charlie and Dennis, knowing they were just kids when this mess started and never seemed to stop, until it warped them into the very things they feared. He’s pissed at Dennis, sure. He knows that Dennis is the worst out of all them. They all know that. But there’s nothing they’ve ever done that’s been able to stop him. (Except the pills. The pills were a good start.)

Charlie skips the beer and goes straight to shots of whiskey. He doesn’t talk, but Mac knows that it’s just enough that he’s there. This it how it always goes, how it’s always been, since Charlie was a kid and he would meet Mac in the mornings after Jack molested him, sniffing rubber cement and singing under his breath, not saying a word about anything that had taken place.

It takes a couple hours, but eventually Charlie is drunk enough for Mac to convince him to go home to Frank. Frank has always been his safe haven. Frank doesn’t stir when Mac drops Charlie off, but he’s kept the space on the couch clear for his roommate. Charlie falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. Mac smiles sadly and prepares himself for the mess he knows he’s going to find at home.

Mac can smell it before he even walks through the door, and sure enough, when he walks into the living room, he finds a discarded bong and about six grams left over. Dennis is half-asleep on the couch.

“Den?” Mac voices. “Dennis?”

He shoots up, startled. His eyes are wild before they settle on Mac in the lowlight. His face softens for a moment before he returns to his usual scowl.

“What do you - want?” he groans.

“You should go to bed,” Mac mumbles. They should talk. They should. But maybe not tonight.

“I’ll - I’ll get up in a minute.”

Mac sighs, stepping forward. He reaches for Dennis’ arms. “Let me help you, bud.”

Dennis flinches violently. “Stop! Don’t touch me.”

Mac’s stomach plummets. He wasn’t - he was just trying to help. “Dennis?” he says softly, voice shaking.

“What?” Dennis snaps.

“I just - “ Fuck, he can’t stop it now. It’s been on his mind all night. “Did you mean what you said today? About me? About us?”

Dennis stares up at him, eyebrows knitted together. “What are you - what are you talking about?”

“‘It’s never gonna happen,’” Mac quotes. “I thought you liked when we kiss. Do you really want to - to end this?”

Dennis sighs, eyes halfway shut. “Mac - I can’t. I’m too high.”

“Because you always seem like you enjoy it.”

“I do,” Dennis says, irritably. “But just because I like kissing you one night doesn’t mean you can just dive in the next, Mac. You have to - you have to fucking ask me. Because - “ He heaves a shuddering breath, suddenly startled by the pace at which his lungs are taking in air. “I need - I need to be in control, Mac. If - if I’m not in control, then - then I just - “ He splutters into a panic, shaking hands roaming toward his chest.

Mac’s instinct is to reach out, put a comforting hand on Dennis’ back, but he knows better now.

“Den?” he prods, but Dennis just continues hyperventilating.

Dennis squeezes his eyes shut, closing his mouth and attempting to regain his composure. Mac thinks about Charlie, about Jack, about Ms. Klinsky.

“It’s her,” Mac says. “You think about her, don’t you?”

Dennis doesn’t say anything.

“Dude, she’s gotta he dead by now,” Mac presses. “She can’t hurt you anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dennis spits through gritted teeth, still hunched over and avoiding looking up at Mac hovering over him. “She’s still - she’s in my fucking head, Mac. All the time.”

Mac takes a small, careful step toward him. Dennis jolts backward.

“Don’t - go away!”

Mac halts, absolutely still for a moment as he watches Dennis tremble with an ache in his heart. “You’re getting worse,” he realizes.

“Mac,” Dennis warns, his voice a croak.

“Ever since you got back, man,” Mac whispers. “You’ve been - you’ve been so volatile.”

“Please,” Dennis breathes.

“You stopped taking your meds, didn’t you. Dennis, you can’t - “

“Stop, Mac,” Dennis hisses. “You’re not my fucking keeper. And who cares? Who cares if I stopped taking my meds? What does it matter? I’m never gonna change.”

“Dennis, look at you. You’re angry all the time. You - you can’t even be touched by anyone anymore. What happened, man? What happened in North Dakota?”

Dennis makes a move to stand up, stumbling as he momentarily leans on the coffee table for support.

“Where are you going?” Mac asks, urgent. He doesn’t like the dark look in Dennis’ eyes.

“I can’t handle this,” Dennis gasps. “I can’t - I can’t.” He rushes forward, steps uneven as he hurries into the bathroom. Mac follows after him, but Dennis is too fast. He slams and locks the door before Mac can get in.

“Dennis!” Mac yells, hands pounding against the door. No, no, no - he knows exactly what Dennis is going to do. “Dennis, let me in.”

“No,” Dennis says firmly.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Mac huffs. “This is what I’m talking about, Dennis. You’re - you’re sick, man. Fuck, I’m starting to think we should just take you to the hospital.”

“Fuck off, Mac,” Dennis shouts. Mac can hear him opening and closing the drawers. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why didn’t Mac get rid of the straight razor? Why didn’t he fucking think about it?

“Dennis,” Mac pleads. “Please, open the door.”

“No,” Dennis says shakily. “Just - just give me a minute, okay?”

“Dennis, I wish you wouldn’t do this to yourself,” Mac says, finding it hard to speak around the lump in his throat.

“Too bad,” Dennis retorts.

Eventually, about ten minutes later, the knob turns slowly. Dennis lets Mac inside, still hazy from the high with his arms covered in blood. The two of them work together to bandage him up.

“You need help,” Mac says adamantly, as he tears a piece of gauze.

Dennis looks back at him with blank eyes.  “What’s the point?” he says dryly.  “I’m never going to get better.”


End file.
